


The Ginger Ale Man

by mcgarrygirl78



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: F/M, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-11
Updated: 2014-10-11
Packaged: 2018-02-20 18:29:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2438579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mcgarrygirl78/pseuds/mcgarrygirl78
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You may have channeled Homer Simpson.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ginger Ale Man

**Author's Note:**

> This is all [](http://secondheartbeat.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://secondheartbeat.livejournal.com/)**secondheartbeat** ’s fault. She starts talking about pretzels and Emily just starts going in my head. Blame her.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

She tossed, turned, whined, took some medicine, whined some more, and finally started to pace. What the hell had she been thinking? This was all Morgan’s fault. She needed to think of a suitable payback and it needed to be good.

She would call him, say there was an emergency; he had to get to Quantico immediately. Imagine the look on his face when he got there and nothing was going on. Yeah, it might be a good trick but she wanted to see his face. She wanted to see it rise in near triumph and fall in ultimate disappointment.

“Baby…”

Hotch sat up on his elbows, biting back a yawn. The room was dark and he thought about turning on some lights but he didn’t want them. Hotch wanted to sleep. He wanted his wife curled around him while he did it. What was going on?

“Its 3:27am, why are you pacing?”

“I don't know, Aaron, maybe I'm contemplating sexism during the era of Catherine the Great.”

“Huh?”

“I have heartburn!” Emily exclaimed. “Its Morgan’s fault and I want you to go over to his house and kick his ass.”

“You’ve seen Morgan’s forearms, right? I'm just asking.”

Emily let out a growl of frustration as Hotch got out of bed. He almost asked her if she’d taken anything but he liked his head too much. Now wasn’t the time to have it ripped off. Instead, he went over to the dresser, pulled out a pair of jeans, and threw them on over his boxer briefs.

“Oh my God, you're gonna do it?” she managed a smile even if her chest felt like it was on fire. “I love you so much honey.”

“I'm not going to kick Morgan’s ass. We’re going on a little road trip.” Hotch grabbed a pair of her pregnant girl jeans from the third drawer. “Put these on.”

“Where are we going?”

“You'll see.”

They went downstairs, out the door, and to the elevator. Emily leaned against the wall and hoped for relief. It felt so bad she was starting to wonder if she’d have to make a trip to the hospital. What kind of suffering was the baby doing right now? She hadn't had it this bad since her first trimester. She was almost seven months pregnant now.

Down in the underground garage, Hotch took the alarm off the SUV. He held the passenger door for Emily and then got in on the driver’s side. As they drove into the too damn early DC morning, Journey played on the radio. Not even Steve Perry would boost her mood.

“I gotta tell you, Hotch, now is not the time for a romantic drive. I think I might be dying.”

“You're not dying.” He turned the blinker on and did a left hand turn into the 7-11 parking lot. “I'm gonna get you some help.”

“Be careful in there. OK, you know what…this starts out as some innocuous drive in the early morning and then it turns into some _Dog Day Afternoon_ -type hostage crisis.”

“What?” he looked at her.

“I don't even know why I just said that. What are we doing here?”

“Lock the doors, baby; keep the engine running. I’ll be right back.”

Emily nodded, leaning over to kiss him before he got out. She didn’t like convenience stores after midnight. They were on her lists of places not to go. Emily Prentiss had come a long way since staggering in drunk and high to buy smokes or energy drinks. She turned down the radio and cracked the window.

She needed to see and hear everything going on around her. Not that she would be able to do a damn thing if all hell broke loose. At least her obsessive husband had on his ankle piece and his FBI ID in his back pocket. Hotch was nothing if not consistent. But in 120 seconds he was back, in the car and handing her a ginger ale.

“Its lukewarm.” She said.

“Yes, it is. Drink half of it down as fast as you can.”

“What?”

“Just do it please.”

Emily shrugged, opened the Canada Dry, and did what Hotch said. He was driving back into the garage when she let out a belch that nearly broke the windshield. Emily covered her mouth.

“Oh my God, was that me?” she asked.

“You may have channeled Homer Simpson.” Hotch replied smiling. “Drink a little more; see if you can do it again. It’ll make you feel better.”

“I feel better already.” This time Emily took the ginger ale in slowly. She did it twice more, though not as epic as the first time. Then she took a deep breath. “Wow.”

“Now I think we need to get some sleep.”

Hotch got out of the car and went around opening Emily’s door. She took the hand he offered to help her climb down. Getting out of an SUV, any car really, was not easy when you couldn’t really see your feet.

“If you ever see me with a bag of buffalo wing flavored pretzels again, slap them out of my hand.” Emily said. She smiled when he slipped his arm around her.

“I value my life so I'm gonna have to say no, I won't be doing that. But I will keep them away from you.”

Hotch pushed UP on the elevator and it came immediately. Emily yawned as they walked in.

“I have to pee now.” she said.

“We’ll be inside in less than a minute.”

Emily actually started counting to herself and was up to 200 when Hotch opened the front door to her condo. She went straight to the powder room while he put on the teakettle. He was tired, but a cup of tea would relax him enough to actually be able to sleep again. This wasn’t the first run he was doing though this was the latest one. He’d add warm ginger ale to things that must be kept in the house at all times. The list was getting longer as Emily’s third trimester progressed.

“Do you want some tea, baby?” he asked as she came out of the bathroom.

“Even though it'll send me back to the bathroom before we even make it upstairs, I'm going to say yes.”

Emily turned on the satellite radio and sat down at the kitchen table. The way they were hanging out it didn’t seem as if it was almost 4am. It was.

“I really miss tea and a clove after a long day.” She sighed as she said it. “It'll be nice to have that little ritual back after the baby comes. It'll be nice not to have to go to the bathroom every 22 minutes or get vicious heartburn that makes you want to scream in agony. I won't even complain about the swollen ankles and the swollen breasts. And I swear if you make a breast comment, I’ll kick you…hard.”

“I'm not going to.” Hotch replied, swallowing his breast comment.

The kettle whistled and he filled two mugs with hot water and Sleepytime teabags. Then he joined Emily at the table. They didn’t need to say much, it was late and they were both tired. But a crisis had been averted, or actually solved with Hotch’s quick thinking. Tomorrow was Sunday so they wouldn’t have to get up too early.

They weren't picking up Jack for an afternoon of fun until one. Hotch would probably spend a couple of hours at Quantico later in the evening after dropping him off. A part of him wanted to stay home and be Emily’s husband but the paperwork wouldn’t do itself. It was budget time, always seemed to be budget time.

That meant that whenever he wasn’t out in the field, Hotch was in full Unit Chief mode. He could tell Emily wanted to take care of him but he wouldn’t let her. Taking care of their daughter needed to be her top priority until she came into the world. Then it would be his.

“What are you thinking?” Emily asked, smiling some as she rested her chin on the palm of her hand.

“Your curtains are thick enough that we might be able to block out the sun and sleep in for real tomorrow.”

“Don’t be a tease, Aaron.”

“No, I think it’s possible. Especially since it’s gonna be cloudy for the next couple of days anyway.”

“Mmm, all morning in bed is too much excitement to even contemplate.”

Hotch just grinned, his dimples poking holes in his cheeks. He loved the idea of sleeping in; he loved the idea of being in bed with his wife. He didn’t know if she would be in the mood, her hormones were peaks and waves right now. But there were so many different ways to make love to her and for her to return the favor. The Hotchners had gotten creative lately when it was called for.

“Bedtime.” He said, taking both of their teacups and putting them in the sink.

“You said that as if you have something on your mind other than sleep.”

“I always do when I slip under those covers with you. Having a healthy lust for your wife is…healthy.”

“Trying to put it on her tonight is unhealthy.” Emily replied.

“So noted.” He took her hand. “C'mon baby, lets get some sleep.”

“I still think you should kick Morgan’s ass for me.” Emily said as Hotch turned out the lights and they headed for the stairs hand and hand.

“I’ll take it under advisement. I promise.”

***

  



End file.
